


The Floor

by BuddyTino



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyTino/pseuds/BuddyTino
Summary: It's hard to pass the time when it seems that it's all never-ending, Lithuania knows this very well.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Floor

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so please give me any criticism you may have, to avoid any confusion this is from Lituania's POV and not Russia's.

The floor was uncomfortable, for a multitude of reasons you’d come up with in the all too short hours that you were allowed to be alone with your thoughts.

It was hard to sleep on for one, cold and rigid, a constant stress on your already fairly strained and bruised back. Complaining would be useless though, you knew where you stood in his eyes and it certainly wasn’t high enough to warrant a bed to sleep on.

It creaked too often, you’d learned that the hard way when you tried to escape for the first time. A single error in the placement of your foot or the way you shifted your weight and he’d appear in the doorway, metal pipe and deranged countenance in hand. Sometimes you'd ponder if he wished for you to try it more often, he’d always seem excited at another chance to have at you.

It was hard to maintain, he expected you to always clean it up after he was done with you, the vivid auburn wood flooring required the utmost maintenance and any fault in its perfection was forbidden. It was his house, you understood that, but if only he’d stop being so observant to the small scratches and stains that would litter the room.

Last of all, it hurt, it hurt like a bitch. Every time you’d been grabbed by your hair and had your head smashed against the floor, every time you’d been thrown to the ground with a loud thunk and beaten senseless with a metal pipe, every time you’d tripped and fell trying to clean it to the best of your ability as your body screamed bloody murder with every twist and turn needed for every nook and cranny.

It hurt.

But you’d grown tired of thinking of the floor, you’d grown tired of just about everything you could do anymore. Wistfully counting the seconds before you heard the knock that signaled his return, hopelessly thinking of ways to escape, viciously imagining all the ways you wished you could torture him the same way he did you.

It was all old now, it wasn’t entertaining anymore, you weren’t sure if it ever was.

One of the only comforts you retained anymore aside from the few hours you were allowed to yourself was knowing that taking the brute of his anger saved the other Baltics some of the pain. Or at least you think it comforted you, another part of you enviously wished for them to experience what you had, but that wasn’t really your choice now, was it?

Exactly like how it wasn’t your choice when your ears picked up the impossibly loud footsteps of your captor, and exactly like how it wasn’t your choice when he rapidly knocked on the door before swinging it open with a thundering bang, the same metal pipe and deceiving smile on his face as always.

Now that you think about it, you wished you could ponder about the floor again.


End file.
